?R 5856 
.A 1 


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1891 








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Copyright N^_ 



CllEffilGHT OJSfQSm 



A 
SELECTION OF 

WORDSWORTH'S 
SONNETS. 






^--^-4; 







A SELECTION from the SONNETS 
of WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 
with numerous ILLUSTRATIONS by 

alfredVarsons 



A 



MOV 



V ' '1/ / ■ 



NEW YORK • HARPER & BROTHERS • PRINTERS &- 
PUBLISHERS . ERANKLIN SQUARE • M DCCC XCI 



Copyright, iSgo, by Harper & Brothers. 

All rights reserved 



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CONTENTS 



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< :<V,. >|4 




First Lines of Sonnets. 
M/W5 /r^/ //o/ ^/ fbei'r convent's narroiv room 
Scorn not the Sonnet; Critic, yon have frowned 
Calm is all natnre as a resting wheel . . . 
/ watch, and long have watched, with calm regret 
How clear, how keen, how marvellonsly bright . 
While not a leaf seems faded ; ivhile the field 
''There is a pleasnre in poetic pains" . . 
Ye sacred Nurseries of blooming Youth ! . 
Where holy ground begins, unhallowed ends 
Hail, Twilight, sovereign of one peaceful hour 
Mark the concentred hazels that enclose . . 
If with old love of you, dear Hills ! I share 
Though the bold wings of Poesy affect . . 
Pelion and Ossa flourish side by side . . 
A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by . . 
Fond words Joave oft been spoken to thee, Sleep 
Eden ! till now thy beauty had I vieived . . 

9 



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e/f SELECTION OF IVORDSIVORTH'S SONNETS. 

First Lines of Sonnets. page 

Surprised bv joy — impatient as tt)e Wind 26 

Her only pilot the soft lvee;e. the boat ^7 

[Vitb ships the sea leas sprinkled far and nigh 2^ 

IVlwre lies the land to leh/eh yon ship must go ? 28 

Sole listener. Dnddon ! to the Breeze that played so 

[Vhat aspeet bore the Man leho roved or fled 30 

Hail to the fields— leith dicel lings sprinkled o'er 12 

The striigglino Rill insensibly is grown 3 9 

IVhenee that to-ie voire ?— A lehisper from the heart M 

/ thought of Thee, my partner and my guide M 

Brook ! lehose soeiety the poet seeks i<3 

Methinks that to sonu' vacant hermitage 3t) 

There is a little unpretending Rill ;!8 

While ftoicing rivers yield a blameless sport 40 

Oh Friend ! I knoic not lehieh icay I must look 40 

Tl?e -icorld is too much -leith us : late and soon 42 

Milton ! thou should' st be living at this hour 44 

Great nwn have been among us : hands that penned 44 

// is not to be thought of that the Flood 4=^ 

When I have Iwrne in memory what this tamed 4S 

Inland, icithin a holloie vale. I stood 4^ 

Vanguard of Liberty, ye men of Kent 4^' 

Two voices are there : one is of the sea 47 

Six thousand veterans practised in war's game 47 

Here, on our native soil, we breathe once uu)re . 48 

Not Love, not War. nor the tumultuous swell 48 

Toussaint. the most unhappy man of nnvi ! 50 

When Philoctetes in the Lemnian isle . . SO 

When haughty expectations prostrate lie si 

O'er the wide earth, on mountain and on plain ....... ^\ 

Once did She hold the gorgeous east in fee S2 

Cfouds, lingering yet. extend in solid bars 52 

Fair Star of evening. Splendour of the zeest S4 

As leaves are to the tree whereon they grow ^4 

Adieu. Rydalian Laurels ! that have grown Si 

There's not a nook within this solemn Pass 56 

10 



^ SELEC 



TION OF [VORDSWORTH'S SONNETS. 



First Lines of Sonnets. 
IVcII may St thou bait— and ga^c icitb brigbtcuiiig eye . 

Tbe forest biige of ancient Caledon 

[Vas it to disenchant, and to undo 

Wlhit lovelier home could gentle Fancy choose ? . . ■ 

Earth has not anything to show more fair 

Hozc profitless the relics that we cull 

A weight of awe, not easy to he borne 

" There r' said a Striplino, pointing ivitb meet pride . 
Dear to the Loves, and to the Graces vowed .... 

A point of life between my Parents' dust 

Part fenced by man, part by a rugged steep . . • • 

Most sweet it is with un uplifted eyes 

Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense 

Thev dreamt not of a perishable home 

Closing the sacred Booh ichich long Ims fed . . • • 

As star tl.mt shines dependent upon star 

IVho but is pleased to watch the moon on h/gh . ■ • 
TJje Shepljerd, looking eastward, softly said . . . • 
IVitb /.WW sad steps, O Moon, thou climb' st the sky . . 
The stars are mansions built by Nature's hand . . 
Lone Flower, hemmed in with snows, and white as thev 
Hark ! 'tis tlw Thrush, undaunted, undeprest . . • 
/ dropped my pen ; and listened to the IVind . . • 
// is a beauteous evening, calm and free . . . • 
Not the whole ivarbling grove in concert heard . . 
Near Anio's stream I spied a gentle Dove .... 
Life with yon Lambs, like dav, is just begun . . • 

/ am not One who much or oft delight 

"Yet life," you sav, " /5 life; ice have seen and see" 
mugs have we— and as far as we can go .... 

Nor can I not believe but that hereby 

Haw szveet it is, wljen mother Fancy rocks .... 
Why art thou silent? Is thy love a plant . . . • 
Though joy attend Thee orient at tlje birth .... 
Serving no Imtghty Muse, my hands l.nive here . . 



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UNS fret not at their convent's narrow room; 
And hermits are contented with their cells; 
And students with their pensive citadels; 
Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom. 
Sit blithe and happy; bees that soar for bloom, 
Hi^h as the highest Peak of Furness-fells, 
Wm murmur by the hour in foxglove bells: 
In truth the prison, unto which we doom 
Ourselves, no prison is: and hence for me, 
in sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound 
Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground; 
Pleased if some Souls (for such there needs must be) 
Who have felt the weight of too much liberty. 
Should fii-id brief solace there, as 1 have found. 



SCORN not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frowned 
Mindless of its just honours; with this key 
Shakspeare unlocked his heart; the melody 
Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarch's wound; 
A thousand times this pipe did Tasso sound; 
With it Camdens soothed an exile's grief; 
The Sonnet glittered a gay myrtle leaf 
Amid the cypress with which Dante crowned 
His visionary brow: a glow-worm lamp. 
It cheered mild Spenser, called from Faeryland 
To struggle through dark ways; and, when a 
Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand 
The Thing became a trumpet; whence he blew 
Soul-animating strains— alas, too few ! 



damp 



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WRITTEN 
IN VERY EARLY YOUTH. 



M Is all nature as a icstiiiij; wheel. 
I"hc kiiie are couched upon the dewy i-rass; 
Tlie horse alone, seen dimlv as I pass. 
Is cropping audibly his later meal: 
D.iik is the ground; a slumber seems to steal 
Oei vale and mountain and the starless sky. 
Now, in this blank of things, a harmony, 
Home-telt, and home-created, comes to heal 
The grief for which the senses still supply 
Fresh food; for only then, when memory 
Is hushed, am I at rest. My friends! restrain 
Those busy cai'es that would allay my pain; 
Oh I leave me to myself, nor let me feel 
The officious touch that makes me droop again. 



I WATCH, and long have watched, with calm regret 
Yon slowly-sinking star— immortal Sire — 
(So might he seem) of all the glittering quire! 
Blue ether still surrounds him^yet— and yet; 
Put now the horizon's locky parapet 
Is reached, where, forfeiting his bright attire. 
He burns — transmuted to a dusky lire — 
Then pays submissively the appointed debt 
To the tlying moments, and is seen no more. 
Angels and gods! We struggle with our tate, 
While health, power, glory, from their height decline, 
Depressed; and then extinguished; and our state. 
In this, how different, lost Star, from thine. 
That no to-morrow shall our beams restore! 



H 




^OW c-Ie:ii. how keen, how marvel- 
lously bright 
The effluence from yon elistant moun- 
^ tain's head. 

Which, strewn with snow smooth 
as the sky can shed. 
Shines like another sun — on mortal sight 
Uprisen, as if to check approaching Night, 
And all her twinkling stars. Who now would 

if so he might, yon mountain's glittering head- 
Terrestrial, but a surface, by the flight 
Of sad mortality's earth-sullying wing, 
Unswept, unstained ? Nor shall the aerial Powers 
Dissolve that beauty, destined to endure. 
White, radiant, spotless, exquisitely pure, 
Through all vicissitudes, till genial Spring 
Has filled the laughing vales with welcome flowers 



.. 1 l- 





HILE not a leaf seems faded; while the fields, 
With ripening harvest prodigally fair, 
In brightest sunshine bask; this nipping air, 
Sent from some distant clime where Winter wields 
His icy scimitar, a foretaste yields 
Of bitter change, and bids the flowers beware; 
And whispers to the silent birds, "Prepare 
Against the threatening foe your trustiest shields." 
For me, who under kindlier laws belong 
To Nature's tuneful choir, this rustling dry 
Through leaves yet green, and yon crystalline sky. 
Announce a season potent to renew, 
'Mid frost and snow, the instinctive joys of song. 
And nobler cares than listless summer knew. 



rHHRE is ii pleasure in poetic pains 
U-^bieb only Poets /;naie: — 'twas rightly said; 
Whom could the Muses else allure to tread 
Their smoothest paths, to wear their lightest chains 
When happiest Fancy has inspired the strains. 
How oft the malice of one luckless word 
Pursues the Enthusiast to the social board, 
Haunts him belated on the silent plains! 
Yet he repines not. if his thought stand clear, 
At last, of hind'rance and obscurity. 
Fresh as the star that crowns the brow of morn; 
Bright, speckless, as a softly-moulded tear 
The moment it has left the virgin's eye. 
Or rain-drop lingering on the pointed thorn. 




AUKEO Par. 



OXFORD. IMAY }0, 1820. 







i[ 



h sacied Nurseries of blooming Youth! 
In whose collegiate shelter England's Flowers 
Expand, enjoying through their vernal hours 
The an of liberty, the light of truth; 
Much have ye suffered from Time's gnawing tooth: 
Yet, O ye Spires of Oxford! domes and towers! 
Gardens and groves! your presence overpowers 
The soberness of reason ; till, in sooth, 
Transformed, and rushing on a bold exchange, 
I slight my own beloved Cam, to range 
Where silver Isis leads my stripling feet; 
Pace the long avenue, or glide adown 
The stream-like windings of that glorious street — 
An eager Novice robed in tluttering gown! 



A PARSONAGE IN OXFORDSHIRE. 

WHERE holy ground begins, unhallowed ends, 
Is marked by no distinguishable line; 
The turf unites, the pathways intertwine; 
And, wheresoe'er the stealing footstep tends. 
Garden, and that domain where kindred, friends, 
And neighbours rest together, here confound 
Their several features, mingled like the sound 
Of many waters, or as evening blends 
With shady night. Soft airs, from shrub and flower, 
Waft fragrant greetings to each silent grave ; 
And while those lofty poplars gently wave 
Their tops, between them comes and goes a sky 
Bright as the glimpses of eternity. 
To saints accorded in their mortal hour. 



i 





AIL, Twilight, sovereign of one peaceful hour! 

Not dull art thou as undiscerning Night; 

But studious only to remove from sight 

Day's mutable distinctions. Ancient Power! 

Thus did the waters gleam, the mountains lower, 
To the rude Briton, when, in wolf-skin vest 
Here roving wild, he laid him down to rest 
On the bare rock, or through a leafy bower 
Looked ere his eyes were closed. By him was seen 
The self-same Vision which we now behold, 
At thy meek bidding, shadowy Power! brought forth 
These mighty barriers, and the gulf between; 
The flood, the stars— a spectacle as old 
As the beginning of the heavens and earth! 



MARK the concentred hazels that enclose 
Yon old gray Stone, protected from the ray 
Of noontide suns: and even the beams that play 
And glance, wiiile wantonly the rough wind blows. 
Are seldom free to touch the moss that grows 
Upon that roof, amid embowering gloom, 
The very image framing of a Tomb, 
In which some ancient Chieftain finds repose 
Among the lonely mountains. Live, ye trees! 
And thou, gray Stone, the pensive likeness keep 
Of a dark chamber where the Mighty sleep: 
For more than Fancy to the intluence bends 
When solitary Nature condescends 
To mimic Time's forlorn humanities. 





^^iim^^m^ii,'^ 




COMPOSED AT %YDAL ON (MAY IMORNfNG, 
18^8. 




F with old love ol \oii, diMi Hills! 1 share 
New love ol 111. my a iival im<ii;c brought 
From far, forgive the wanderings of my thought: 
Nor art thou wronged, sweet May! when 1 compare 
Thy present birth-morn with thy last, so fair, 
So rich to me in favours. For my lot 
Then was, within the famed Egerian Grot 
To sit and muse, fanned by its dewy air 
Mingling with thy soft breath! That morning, too, 
Warblers I heard their joy unbosoming 
Amid the sunny, shadowy Coliseum; 
Heard them, unchecked by aught of saddening hue. 
For victories there won by tlower-crowned Spring, 
Chant in full choir their innocent Te Deum. 



THOUGH the bold wings of Poesy affect 
The clouds, and wheel around the mountain-tops 
Rejoicing, from her loftiest height she drops 
Well pleased to skim the plain with wild flowers deckt, 
Or muse in solemn grove whose shades protect 
The lingering dew — there steals along, or stops 
Watching the least small bird that round her hops, 
Or creeping worm, with sensitive respect. 
Her functions are they therefore less divine, 
Her thoughts less deep, or void of grave intent 
Her simplest fancies ? Should that fear be thine. 
Aspiring Votary, ere thy hand present 
One offering, kneel before her modest shrine 
With brow in penitential sorrow bent! 




m^"^'-^^ ' ■jStii ^ij> ^ i>fe^i^^^„c?^ * ^^' ^*>s-« V. gfet^^g ^'^^ 






ELION and Ossa flourish side by side, 
Together in immortal books enrolled : 
His ancient dower Olympus hath not sold; 
And that inspiring Hill, which "did divide 
Into two ample horns his forehead wide," 
Shines with poetic radiance as of old; 
While not an English Mountain we behold 
By the celestial Muses glorified. 
Yet round our sea-girt shore they rise in crowds: 
What was the great Parnassus' self to Thee, 
Mount Skiddaw ? In his natural sovereignty 
Our British Hill is nobler far; he shrouds 
His double front among Atlantic clouds. 
And pours forth streams more sweet than Castaly. 



23 



»#fev 




TO SLEEP. 



FLOCK of sheep that leisurely pass by, 
One after one; the sound of rain, and bees 
Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas. 
Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky 
1 have thought of all by turns, and yet do lie 
Sleepless! and soon the small birds' melodies 
Must hear, tlrst uttered from my orchard trees; 
And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry. 
Even thus last night, and two nights more. 1 lay, 
And could not win thee, Sleep! by any stealth: 
So do not let me wear to-night away : 
Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth ? 
Come, blessed barrier between day and day. 
Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health! 



FOND words have oft been spoken to thee. Sleep! 
And thou hast had thv store of tenderest names; 
The very sweetest Fancy culls or frames 
When thankfulness of heart is strong and deep! 
Dear Bosom-child we call thee, that dost steep 
In rich reward all suffering; Balm that tames 
All anguish; Saint that evil thoughts and aims 
Takest away, and into souls dost creep. 
Like to a breeze from heaven. Shall I alone, 
I surely not a man ungently made. 
Call thee worst Tyrant by which Flesh is crost.^ 
Perverse, self-willed to own and to disown. 
Mere slave of them who never for thee prayed, 
Still last to come where thou art wanted most! 



24 



THE R/^ER EDEN, CUMBERLAND. 



y^fk'. 





DbN! till now thy beauty had 1 viewed 
By glimpses only, and confess with shame 
That verse of mine, whate'er its varying mood, 
Repeats but once the sound of thy sweet name: 
Yet fetched from Paradise that honour came, 
Rightfully borne; for Nature gives thee flowers 
That have no rivals among British bowers; 
And thy bold rocks iire worthy of their fame. 
Measuring thy course, fair Stream! at length 1 pay 
To my life's neighbour dues of neighbourhood; 
But 1 have traced thee on thy winding way 
With pleasure sometimes by this thought restrained— 
For things far off we toil, while many a good 
Not sought, because too near, is never gained. 



SURPRISED by joy — impatient as the Wind 
I turned to share the transport — Oh! with whom 
But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb. 
That spot which no vicissitude can find.^ 
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind — 
But how could I forget thee ? Through what power, 
Even for the least division of an hour, 
Have 1 been so beguiled as to be blind 
To my most grievous loss? — That thought's return 
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore, 
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn. 
Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more; 
That neither present time nor years unborn 
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore. 






^ > 




1 R only pilot the soft breeze, the boat 
Lingers, but Fancy is well satisfied; 
With keen-eyed Hope, with Memory, at her side. 
And the glad Muse at liberty to note 
All that to each is precious, as we float 
Gently along; regardless who shall chide 
If the heavens smile, and leave us free to glide, 

Happy Associates breathing air remote 

From trivial cares. But, Fancy and the Muse, 

Why have I crowded this small bark with you 

And others of your kind, ideal crew! 

While here sits One whose brightness owes its hues 

To flesh and blood; no Goddess from above. 

No fleeting Spirit, but my own true Love ? 





»«^, 



ITH Ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh, 
Like stars in heaven, and joyously it showed 
Some lying fast at anchor in the road, 
Some veering up and down, one knew not why. 
A goodly Vessel did I then espy 
Come like a giant from a haven broad; 
And lustily along the bay she strode, 
Her tackling rich, and of apparel high. 
This Ship was naught to me, nor 1 to her, 
Yet I pursued her with a Lover's look; 
This ship to all the rest did I prefer: 
When will she turn, and whither ? She will brook 
No tarrying; where She comes the winds must stir: 
On went She, and due north her journey took. 



WHERE lies the Land to which yon Ship must go.? 
Fresh as a lark mounting at break of day, 
Festively she puts forth in trim array; 
Is she for tropic suns, or polar snow ? 
What boots the inquiry .?— Neither friend nor foe 
She cares for; let her travel where she may, 
She finds familiar names, a beaten way 
Ever before her, and a wind to blow. 
Yet still 1 ask, what haven is her mark.? 
And, almost as it was when ships were rare, 
(From time to time, like Pilgrims, here and there 
Crossing the waters) doubt, and something dark, 
Of the old Sea some reverential fear, 
is with me at thy farewell, joyous Bark! 



28 




THE lill/EH 'BUD DON. 



\ 




OLb listener. Duddon! to the Breeze that played 
With thy clear voice, I caught the fitful sound 
Wafted o'er sullen moss and craggy mound — 
Unfruitful solitudes, that seemed to upbraid 
The sun in heaven! — but now, to form a shade 
For Thee, green alders have together wound 
Their foliage; ashes flung their arms around; 
And birch-trees risen in silver colonnade. 
And thou hast also tempted here to rise, 
'Mid sheltering pines, this Cottage rude and gray; 
Whose ruddy children, by the mother's eyes 
Carelessly watched, sport through the summer day, 
Thy pleased Associates: — light as endless May 
On infant bosoms lonely Nature lies. 



WHAT aspect bore the Man who roved or tied. 
First of his tribe, to this dark dell — who first 
In this pellucid Current slaked his thirst ? 
What hopes came with him.?' what designs were spread 
Along his path? His unprotected bed 
What dreams encompassed ? Was the intruder nursed 
In hideous usages, and rites accursed. 
That thinned the living and disturbed the dead ? 
No voice replies; — both air and earth are mute; 
And Thou, blue Streamlet, murmuring yield'st no more 
Than a soft record, that, whatever fruit 
Of ignorance thou mightst witness heretofore. 
Thy function was to heal and to restore. 
To soothe and cleanse, not madden and pollute! 





All. to the fields — with dwelhnus spiinkled o'er, 
And one small hamlet, under a tureen hill 
Clusterinti;, with barn and byre, and spouting- mill! 
A glance suffices; — should we wish for more. 
Gay June would scorn us. But when bleak winds roar 
Through the stiff, lance-like shoots of pollard ash. 
Dread swell of sound! loud as the gusts that lash 
The matted forests of Ontario's sliore 
By wasteful steel unsmitten — then would 1 
Turn into port; and, reckless of the gale. 
Reckless of angry Duddon sweeping by. 
While the warm hearth exalts the mantling ale, 
Laugh with the generous household heartily 
At all the merry pranks of Donnerdale! 



32 



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HE struggling Rill insensibly is grown 
into a Brook of loud and stately march, 
Crossed ever and anon by plank or arch; 
And, for like use, lo! what might seem a zone 
Chosen for ornament — stone matched with stone 
In studied symmetry, with interspace 
For the clear waters to pursue their race 
Without restraint. How swiftly have they flown, 
Succeeding — still succeeding! Here the Child 
Puts, when the high-swoln Flood runs fierce and wild. 
His budding courage to the proof; and here 
Declining Manhood learns to note the sly 
And sure encroachments of infirmity. 
Thinking how flist time runs, life's end how near! 




I NLb that low voice ? — A whisper from the heart, 
That told of days lout? past, when here I roved 
With h lends and kindled tenderly beloved; 
Some who had early mandates to depart, 
Yet are allowed to steal my path athwart 
'^w By Duddon's side; once more do we unite, 

Once more, beneath the kind Earth's tranc]uil light; 

And smothered joys into new being start. 

From her unworthy seat, the cloudy stall 

Of Time, breaks forth triumphant Memory; 

Her glistening tresses bound, yet light and free 

As golden locks of birch, that rise and fall 

On gales that breathe too gently to recall 

Aught of the fading year's inclemency! 



1 THOUGHT of Thee, mv partner and my guide, 
As being passed awav. — Vain sympathies! 
For, backward, Duddon, as I cast my eyes, 
1 see what was, and is, and will abide; 
Still glides the Stream, and shall forever glide; 
The Form remains, the Function never dies; 
While we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise, 
We Men, who in our morn of youth defied 
The elements, must vanish; — be it so! 
Enough, if something from our hands have power 
To live, and act, and serve the future hour; 
And if, as toward the silent tomb we go. 
Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower. 
We feel that we are greater than we know. 



34 





mi 



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K.OOK ' whose society the poet seeks, 
hitent his wasted spirits to renew; 
And whom the curious Painter doth pursue 
Through rocky passes, among flowery creeks, 
And tracks thee dancing down thy waterbreaks; 
If wish were mine some type of thee to view. 
Thee, and not thee thyself, I would not do 
Like Grecian Artists, give thee human cheeks. 
Channels for tears; no Naiad shouldst thou be — 
Have neither limbs, feet, feathers, joints, nor hairs: 
It seems the Eternal Soul is clothed in thee 
With purer robes than those of flesh and blood, 
And hath bestowed on thee a safer good; 
Unwearied joy, and life without its cares. 



M 



ETHINKS that to some vacant hermitage 



Scooped out of living rock, and near a brook 
Hurled down a mountain-cove from stage to stage, 
Yet tempering, for my sight, its bustling rage 
In the soft heaven of a translucent pool; 
Thence creeping under sylvan arches cool. 
Fit haunt of shapes whose glorious equipage 
Would elevate my dreams. A beechen bowl, 
A maple dish, my furniture should be; 
Crisp, yellow leaves my bed; the hooting owl 
Mv night-watch: nor should e'er the crested fowl 
From thorp or vill his matins sound for me, 
Tired of the world and all its industry. 



36 




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HhRE IS a little unpietending Rill 

Of limpid water, humbler far than aught 
That ever among Men or Naiads sought 
Notice or name! — It quivers down the hill, 
Furrowing its shallow way with dubious will; 
Yet to my mind this scanty Stream is brought 
Oftener than Ganges or the Nile; a thought 
Of private recollection sweet and still! 

J Months perish with their moons; year treads on year 



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But, faithful Emma! thou with me canst say 
That, while ten thousand pleasures disappear. 
And flies their memorv fast almost as they, 
The immortal Spirit of one happy day 
Lingers beside that Rill, in vision clear. 













^-\l \\ 







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IVR/TTEN UPON A BLANK LEAF 

IN ''THE COMPLETE ANGLER. 



i^.'WffS.w^^ 




HILE flowing rivers yield a blameless sport, 

Shall live the name of Walton: Sage benign! 

Whose pen, the mysteries of the rod and line 

Unfolding, did not fruitlessly exhort 

To reverend watching of each still report 

That Nature utters from her rural shrine. 

Meek, nobly versed in simple discipline. 

He found the longest summer day too short. 

To his loved pastime given by sedgy Lee, 

Or down the tempting maze of Shawford brook — 

Fairer than life itself in this sweet Book, 

The cowslip bank and shady willow-tree; 

And the fresh meads— where flowed, from every nook 

Of his full bosom, gladsome Piety! 



O FRIEND! I know not which way 1 must look 
For comfort, being, as I am, opprest. 
To think that now our life is only drest 
For show; mean handiwork of craftsman, cook, 
Or groom! — We must run glittering like a brook 
in the open sunshine, or we are unblest: 
The wealthiest man among us is the best: 
No grandeur now in nature or in book 
Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense. 
This is idolatry; and these we adore: 
Plain living and high thinking are no more: 
The homely beauty of the good old cause 
Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence, 
And pure religion breathing household laws. 



40 





HE world is too much with us; late and soon. 

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers; 

Little we see in Nature that is ours; 

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! 

The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon ; 

The winds that will be howling at all hours, 
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; 
For this, for everything, we are out of tune; 
It moves us not. — Great God! I'd rather be 
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn ; 
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea. 
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; 
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; 
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. 




Il.TONl IhoLi shouldst be living at this hour: 
Hntj:iand hath need of thee: she is a len 
Ot statj:nant waters: altar, sword, and pen. 
Fiieside. the heroic wealth of hall and bowei 
Have torfeited their ancient English dower 
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men ; 
Oh! raise us up, return to us again; 
And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. 
Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart: 
Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea: 
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, IVee, 
So didst thou travel on life's common way, 
In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart 
The lowliest duties on herself did lay. 



GREAT men have been among us; hands that penned 
And tongues that uttered wisdom — better none: 
The later Sidney, Marvel, Harrington, 
Young Vane, and others who called Milton friend. 
These moralists could act and comprehend: 
They knew how genuine glory was put on ; 
Taught us how rightfully a nation shone 
In splendour: what strength was, that would not bend 
But in magnanimous meekness. Prance, tis strange. 
Hath brought forth no such souls as we had then. 
Perpetual emptiness! unceasing change! 
No single volume paramount, no code, 
No master spirit, no determined road; 
But equally a want of books and men! 



44 




not to W tlioui;ht ol that the Flood 
Of British Freedom, which, to the open sea 
Of the world's praise, from dark antiquity 
Hath flowed, "with pomp of waters, unwithstood. 
Roused though it be full often to a mood 
Which spurns the check of salutary bands. 
That this most famous Stream in bogs and sands 
Should perish; and to evil and to good 
Be lost forever. In our halls is hung 
Armoury of the invincible Knights of old : 
We must be free or die, who speak the tongue 
That Shakspeare spake; the faith and morals hold 
Which Milton held. —In everything we are sprunj 
Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold. 



WHEN 1 have borne in memory what has tamed 
Great Nations, how ennobling thoughts depart 
When men change swords for ledgers, and desert 
The student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed 
I had, my Country! — am 1 to be blamed? 
Now, when 1 think of thee, and what thou art, 
Verily, in the bottom, of my heart. 
Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed. 
For dearly must we prize thee; we who find 
In thee a bulwark for the cause of men : 
And I by my affection was beguiled: 
What wonder if a Poet now and then, 
Among the many movements of his mind, 
Felt for thee as a lover or a child! 



45 



^EAR T>Ol/ER. 







i^:^, 



NLANl), within a hollow vale, 1 stood; 
And saw, while sea was calm and air was clear, 
The coast of France — the coast of France how near! 
Drawn almost into frightful neighbourhood. 
1 shrunk; for verily the barrier Hood 
Was like a lake, or river bright and fair, 
A span of waters; y<^'t what power is there! 
What mightiness for evil and for good! 
Fven so does God piotect us if we be 
Virtuous and wise. Winds blow, and waters roll. 
Strength to the brave, and Power, and Ueity; 
Yet in themselves are nothing! One decree 
Spake laws to them, and said that by the soul 
Only, the Nations shall be great and free. 



VANGUARD of Liberty, ye men of Kent, 
Ye children of a Soil that doth advance 
Her haughty brow against the coast of France, 
Now is the time to prove your hardiment! 
To France be words of invitation sent! 
They from their (ields can see the countenance 
Of your fierce war, may ken the glittering lance 
And hear vou shouting forth your brave intent. 
Left single, in bold parley, ye, of yore, 
Did from the Norman win a gallant wreath ; 
Confirmed the charters that were yours before; — 
No parleying now! In Britain is one breath; 
We all are with you now from shore to shore; — 
Ye men of Kent, 'tis victory or death! 



46 



THOUGHT OF ^A "BRITON ON THE SUBJUGATION 
OF SIV/TZERLAND. 




>4^^v 



/^ 



WO voices .lie thcic; one is ol the sl.i 
One of the mountains; each a mighty Voice: 
hi both from age to age thou didst rejoice, 
They were thy chosen music, IJberty! 
There came a Tyrant, and with holy glee 
Thou fought'st against him; but hast vainly striven: 
Thou from thy Alpine holds at length art driven, 
Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee. 
Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft: 
Then cleave, O cleave to that which still is left; 
For, high-souled Maid, what sorrow would it be 
That Mountain floods should thunder as before, 
And Ocean bellow from his rocky shore, 
And neither awful voice be heard by thee! 



<^N INVASION "BEING EXPECTED, OCTOBER. 
1803. 

SIX thousand veterans practised in war's game, 
Tried men, at Killicranky were arrayed 
Against an equal host that wore the plaid. 
Shepherds and herdsmen. — Like a whirlwind came 
The Highlanders, the slaughter spread like tlame; 
And Garry, thundering down his mountain-road. 
Was stopped, and could not breathe beneath the load 
Of the dead bodies. — Twas a day of shame 
For them whom precept and the pedantry 
Of cold mechanic battle do enslave. 
O for a single hour of that Dundee, 
Who on that day the word of onset gave! 
Like conquest would the Men of England see; 
And her Foes find a like inglorious grave. 
47 



COMPOSED IN THE VALLEY U^EAR TfOVER, 
ON -THE T)AY OF LANDING. 

HERE, on our native soil, we breathe once more. 
The cock that crows, the smoke that curls, that sound 
Of bells; those boys who in yon meadow-ground 
in white-sleeved shirts are playing; and the roar 
Of the waves breaking on the chalky shore; — 
All, all are English. Oft have I looked round 
With joy in Kent's green vales; but never found 
Myself so satisfied in heart before. 
Europe is yet in bonds; but let that pass. 
Thought for another moment. Thou art free. 
My Country! and 'tis joy enough and pride 
For one hour's perfect bliss, to tread the grass 
Of England once again, and hear and see. 
With such a dear Companion at my side. 



'^^)fe^ 




love not War, nor the tumultuous swell. 
Of civil conflict, nor the wrecks of change, 
Nor Duty struggling with afflictions strange— 
Not these alone inspired the tuneful shell; 
But where untroubled peace and concord dwell. 
There also is the Muse not loath to range. 
Watching the twilight smoke of cot or grange. 
Skyward ascending from a woody dell. 
Meek aspirations please her, lone endeavour, 
And sage content, and placid melancholy; 
She loves to gaze upon a crystal river- 
Diaphanous because it travels slowly; 
Soft is the music that would charm forever; 
The flower of sweetest smell is shy and lowly. 



>#*«|i!;. 




4\U r ' " ir 





TO 



rOUSSA/NT LOUyERTURE. 



( )USSAINT, the most unhappy man of men! 
Whethet the whistlinti: Rustic tend his plough 
Within thv hearing, or thy head be now 
Pillowed in some deep dungeon's earless den; — 
O miserable Chieftain! where and when 
Wilt thou (ind patience? Yet die not; do thou 
Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful brow: 
Though fallen thyself, never to rise again. 
Live, and take comtort. Thou hast left behind 
that will work for thee; air, earth, and skies; 
not a breathing of the common wind 
That will forget thee; thou hast great allies; 
Thv friends are rxultations, agonies. 
And love, and man's unconquerable mind. 



i^owers 
There's 



WHEN Philoctetes in the Lemnian isle 
Like a form sculptured on a monument 
Lay couched; on him or his dread bow unbent 
Some wild bird oft might settle and beguile 
The rigid features of a transient smile. 
Disperse the tear, or to the sigh give vent. 
Slackening the pains of ruthless banishment 
From his loved home, and from heroic toil. 
And trust that spiritual Creatures round us move, 
Griefs to allay which Reason cannot heal; 
Yea, veriest reptiles have sufficed to prove 
To fettered wretchedness, that no Bastile 
is deep enough to exclude the light of love, 
Thouoh man tor brother man has ceased to feel. 



-^^-'^:^_ 




haughty expectations prostrate lie, 

oiandLLii crouches like a guilty thing, 
sh.ill the lowly weak, till Nature bring 
tuie i(.le.isc in fair society 
ivive, and Fortune's utmost anger try; 
<e these trail snow-drops that together cling, 
helmets, smitten by the wing 
Of many a furious whirl-blast sweeping by. 
Observe the faithful flowers! if small to great 
May lead the thoughts, thus struggling used to stand 
The Emathian phalanx, nobly obstinate; 
And so the bright immortal Theban band, 
Whom onset, fiercely urged at Jove's command. 
Might overwhelm, but could not separate! 



O'ER the wide earth, on mountain and on plain, 
Dwells in the affections and the soul of man 
A Godhead, like the universal Pan; 
But more exalted, with a brighter train: 
And shall his bounty be dispensed in vain. 
Showered ec]ually on city and on tleld, 
And neither hope nor steadfast promise yield 
In these usurping times of fear and pain ? 
Such doom awaits -us. Nay. forbid it Heaven! 
We know the arduous strife, the eternal laws 
To which the triumph of all good is given, 
High sacrifice, and labour without pause, 
Even to the death; — else wherefore should the eye 
Of man converse with immortality f 



51 



ON THE EXTINCT/ON OF THE 

VENETIAN %EPUBLIC. 







ik 



|NCE did she hold the gorgeous East in fee, 
And was the safeguard of the West: the worth 
Of Venice did not fall below her birth, 
Venice, the eldest Child of Liberty. 
She was a maiden City, bright and free; 
No guile seduced, no force could violate; 
And, when she took unto herself a Mate, 
She must espouse the everlasting Sea. 
And what if she had seen those glories fade, 
Those titles vanish, and that strength decay; 
Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid 
When her long life hath reached its final day: 
Men are we, and must grieve when even the Shade 
Of that which once was great is passed away. 



"BY GRASMERE LAKE. 

CLOUDS, lingering yet, extend in solid bars 
Through the gray west; and lo! these waters, steeled 
By breezeless air to smoothest polish, yield 
A vivid repetition of the stars; 
Jove. Venus, and the ruddy crest of Mars 
Amid his fellows beauteously revealed 
At happy distance from Larth's groaning tield. 
Where ruthless mortals wage incessant wars. 
Is it a mirror ? — or the nether Sphere 
Opening to view the abyss in which she feeds 
Her own calm fires ?— But list! a voice is near; 
Great Pan himself low-whispering through the reeds, 
"Be thankful, thou; for, if unholy deeds 
Ravage the world, tranquillity is here!" 



52 



COMPOSED "BY THE SEA-SIDE, ^EAR CALAIS. 



AIR Star of evening, Splendour of the west, 
Star of my Country! — ^on the horizon's brink 
Thou hangest, stooping, as might seem, to sink 
On England's bosom ; yet well pleased to rest, 
Meanwhile, and be to her a glorious crest 
Conspicuous to the Nations. Thou, I think, 
Shouldst be my Country's emblem; and shouldst wink. 
Bright Star! with laughter on her banners, di'est 
In thy fresh beauty. There! that dusky spot 
Beneath thee, that is England; there she lies. 
Blessings be on vou both ! one hope, one lot. 
One life, one glory! — 1, with many a fear 
For my dear Country, many heart-felt sighs. 
Among men who do not love her, linger here. 



AS LEAVES are to the tree whereon they grow 
And wither, every human generation 
Is, to the Being of a mighty nation, 
Locked in our world's embrace through weal and woe 
Thought that should teach the zealot to forego 
Rash schemes, to abjure all selfish agitation. 
And seek through noiseless pains and moderation 
The unblemished good they only can bestow. 
Alas! with most, who weigh futurity 
Against time present, passion holds the scales: 
Hence equal ignorance of both prevails. 
And nations sink; or. struggling to be free, 
Are doomed to flounder on. like wounded whales 
Tossed on the bosom of a stormy sea. 



54 




'5^ ' \. 



'^rf-' 




T 



DlhU, Rydalian Laurels! that have grown 

And spread as if ye knew that days might come 
When ye would shelter in a happy home, 
On this fair Mount, a Poet of your own. 
One who ne'er ventured for a Uelphic crown 
To sue the God; but, haunting your green shade 
All seasons through, is humbly pleased to braid 
GiOLind-tlowers, beneath your guardianship, self-sown. 
Faiewell! no Minstrels now with harp new-strung 
For summer wandeiing quit their household bowers; 
Yet not for this wants Poesy a tongue 
To cheer the itinerant on whom she pours 
Her spirit, while he crosses lonely moors. 
Or musing sits forsaken halls among. 




MiP 



¥y 



S^' 




rM 



^ 



•THE TROSACHS. 



HERE'S not a nook within this solemn Pass, 
But were an apt confessional for One 
Taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone, 
That Life is but a tale of morning grass 
Withered at eve. From scenes of art which chase 
That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes 
Feed it 'mid Nature's old felicities, 
Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass 
Untouched, unbreathed upon. Thrice happy quest. 
If from a golden perch of aspen spray 
(October's workmanship to rival May) 
The pensive warbler of the ruddy^ breast 
That moral sweeten by a heaven-taught lay, 
Lulling the year, with all its cares, to rest! 



ADMONITION. 

WELL may'st thou halt, and gaze with brightening eye! 
The lovelv Cottage in the guardian nook 
Hath stirred thee deeply; with its own dear brook, 
Its own small pasture, almost its own sky! 
But covet not the Abode; — forbear to sigh, 
As many do, repining while they look; 
Intruders who would tear from Nature's book 
This precious leaf with harsh impiety. 
Think what the home must be if it were thine. 
Even thine, though few thy wants! — Roof, window, door, 
The very flowers are sacred to the Poor, 
The roses to the porch which they intwine; 
Yea. ail, that now enchants thee, from the day 
On which it should be touched, would melt away. 



56 




HE forest huge of ancient Caledon 
Is but a name, no more is Inglewood, 
That swept from hill to hill, from flood to flood : 
On her last thorn the nightly moon has shone; 
Yet still, though unappropriate Wild be none, 
Fair parks spread wide where Adam Bell might deign 
With Clym o' the Clough, were they alive again. 
To kill for merry feast their venison. 
Nor wants the holy Abbot's gliding Shade 
His church with monumental wreck bestrown; 
The feudal Warrior-chief a Ghost unlaid. 
Hath still his castle, though a skeleton, 
That he may watch by night, and lessons con 
Of power that perishes, and rights that fade. 



^/IIX- LA - CHAPELLE. 

WAS it to disenchant, and to undo. 
That we approached the seat of Charlemaine ? 
To sweep from many an old romantic strain 
That faith which no devotion may renew! 
Why does this puny Church present to view 
Her feeble columns? and that scanty chair! 
This sword that one of our weak times might wear! 
Objects of false pretence, or meanly true! 
if from a traveller's fortune 1 might claim 
A palpable memorial of that day. 
Then would 1 seek the Pyrenean Breach 
That Roland clove with huge two-handed sway, 
And to the enormous labour left his name. 
Where unremitting frosts the rocky crescent bleach. 



5S 



"BETWEEN ^AMUR AND LIEGE. 




HAT lovelier home could gentle Fancy choose ? 

Is this the stream whose cities, heights, and plains, 
War's favourite playground, are with crimson stains 
Familiar, as the Morn with pearly dews ? 
The Morn, that now. along the silver Meuse, 
Spreading her peaceful ensigns, calls the swains 
To tend their silent boats and ringing wains. 
Or strip the bough whose mellow fruit bestrews 
The ripening corn beneath it. As mine eyes 
Turn from the fortified and threatening hill, 
How sweet the prospect of yon watery glade, 
With its gray rocks clustering in pensive shade — 
That, shaped like old monastic turrets, rise 
From the smooth meadow-ground, serene and still! 




P'!|"";'' 



# 




COMPOSED ON WESTMINSTER "B RIDGE, SEPT. 3, 1802. 




k^ -£» 







«^ ARTH has not anything to show more fair: 
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by 
A sight so touching in its majesty: 
This City now doth, like a garment, wear 
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, 
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie 
Open unto the fields, and to the sky; 
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. 
Never did sun more beautifully steep, 
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill; 
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! 
The river glideth at his own sweet will: 
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; 
And all that mighty heart is lying still! 



^OMAN ./INTIOUITIES. 

HOW profitless the relics that we cull, 
Troubling the last holds of ambitious Rome, 
Unless they chasten fancies that presume 
Too high, or idle agitations lull ! 
Of the world's flatteries if the brain be full, 
To have no seat for thought were better doom. 
Like this old helmet, or the eyeless skull 
Of him who gloried in its nodding plume. 
Heaven out of view, our wishes what are they ? 
Our fond regrets tenacious in their grasp ? 
The Sage's theory } the Poet's lay ? 
Mere Fibulae without a robe to clasp; 
Obsolete lamps, whose light no time recalls; 
Urns without ashes, tearless lachrymals! 



62 




"Cfie ih^onumcnf commoT)(y caffecfliongiDLeg 

an6")lCer ID auq fit ers Wdrtfe Ewi ver Qden. 





WEIGHT of awe, not easy to be borne, 
Fell suddenly upon my Spirit^cast 
From the dread bosom of the unknown past, 
When first 1 saw that family forlorn. 
Speak Thou, whose massy strength and stature s( 
The power of years — pre-eminent, and placed 
Apart, to overlook the circle vast- 
Speak, Giant-mother! tell it to the Morn 
While she dispels the cumbrous shades of Night; 
Let the Moon hear, emerging fVom a cloud; 
At whose .behest uprose on British ground 
That Sisterhood, in hieroglyphic round 
Forth-shadowing, some have deemed, the infinite. 
The inviolable God, that tames the proud! 



63 





•^^n"^-- 



i^- L 




HERE!" said a Stripling, pointing with meet pride 
Towards a low roof with green trees half concealed, 
'•Is Mosgiel Farm; and that's the very field 
Where Burns ploughed up the Daisy." Far and wide 
A plain below stretched seaward, while, descried 
? sea-clouds, the Peaks of Arran rose; 

And. by that simple notice, the repose 

Ot earth, sky, sea, and air was vivified. 

Beneath "the random b/'ehf of clod or stone" 

Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower 

Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour 

Have passed away; less happy than the One 

That, by the unwilling ploughshare, died to prove 

The tender charm of poetry and love. 



CMARY (2UEEN OF SCOTS. 

DEAR to the Loves, and to the Graces vowed, 
The QLieen drew back the wimple that she wore: 
And to the throng, that on the Cumbrian shore 
Her landing hailed, how touchingly she bowed! 
And like a Star (that, from a heavy cloud 
Of pine-tree foliage poised in air, forth darts. 
When a soft summer gale at evening parts 
The gloom that did its loveliness enshroud) 
She smiled; but Time, the old Saturnian seer. 
Sighed on the wing as her foot pressed the strand, 
With step prelusive to a long array 
Of woes and degradations hand in hand — 
"Weeping captivity, and shuddering fear 
Stilled by the ensanguined block of Fotheringay! 



64 




^ffp^^/-J^ 



L_.._:_ 



Si s 



igfit of ffieTbwn af Qocf^crmoutfi, 

/'6e/Yufnor coat 6orn.r(n({f)U Jat6frj nmainf cur laid ) 




POINT of life between my Parents" dust. 
And yours, my buried Little-ones! am I; 
And to those graves looking habitually 
In kindred quiet I repose my trust. 
Death to the innocent is more than just, 
And, to the sinner, mercifully bent; 
So may I hope, if truly I repent 
And meekly bear the ills which bear 1 must; 
And You, my Offspring! that do still remain, 
Yet may outstrip me in the appointed race, 
If e'er, through fault of mine, in mutual pain 
We breathed together for a moment's space, 
The wrong, by love provoked, let love arraign, 
And only love keep in your hearts a place. 



C^ 






65 



^ VLACE OF BURIAL IN THE SOUTH OF 
SCOTLAND. 

PART fenced by man, part by a rugged steep 
That curbs a foaming brook, a Grave-yard lies; 
The hare's best couching-place for fearless sleep; 
Which moonlit elves, far seen by credulous eyes, 
Enter in dance. Of church, or Sabbath ties. 
No vestige now remains; yet thither creep 
Bereft Ones, and in lowly anguish weep 
Their prayers out to the wind and naked skies. 
Proud tomb is none; but rudely-sculptured knights, 
By humble choice of plain old times, are seen 
Level with earth among the hillocks green: 
Union not sad, when sunny daybreak smites 
The spangled turf, and neighbouring thickets ring 
With jiib//dfe from the choirs of Spring! 




'OST sweet it is with unuplifted eyes 

To pace the ground, if path be there or none, 
While a fair region round the traveller lies 
Which he forbears again to look upon; 
Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene, 
The work of Fancy, or some happy tone 
Of meditation, slipping in between 
The beauty coming and the beauty gone. 

If Thought and Love desert us, from that day 

Let us break off all commerce with the Muse: 

With Thought and Love companions of our way, 

Whate'er the senses take or may refuse. 

The Mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews 

Of inspiration on the humblest lay. 



66 







wm' '/\u 





AX not the roy^il S:\mi with vain expense. 
With ill-matched aims the Architect who planned- 
Albeit laboLirino; for a scanty band 
Of white-robed Scholars only — this immense 
And 2;lorious Work of fine intelligence! 
Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore 
Of nicely-calculated less or more; 
So deemed the man who fashioned for the sense 
These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof 

Self-poised, and scooped into ten thousand cells. 

Where light and shade repose, where music dwells 

Lingering — and wandering on as loath to die; 

Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof 

That they were born for immortality. 



THEY dreamt not of a perishable home 
Who thus could build. Be mine, in hours of fear 
Or grovelling thought, to seek a refuge here; 
Or through the aisles of Westminster to roam: 
Where bubbles burst, and folly"s dancing foam 
Melts, if it cross the threshold; where the wreath 
Of awe-struck wisdom droops: or let my path 
Lead to that younger Pile, whose sky-like dome 
Hath typified by reach of daring art 
Infinity's embrace; whose guardian crest, 
The silent Cross, among the stars shall spread 
As now. when She hath also seen her breast 
Filled with mementos, satiate with its part 
Of grateful England's overflowing Dead. 



68 










.OSING the sacred Book which long has fed 
Our meditations, give we to a day 
Of annual joy one tributary lay ; 
This day, when, forth by rustic music led. 
The village Children, while the sky is red 
With evening lights, advance in long array 
Through the still church-yard, each with garland gay, 
That, carried sceptre-like, o'ertops the head 
Of the proud Bearer. To the wide church-door. 
Charged with these offerings which their fathers bore 
For decoration in the Papal time, 
The innocent procession sot\ly moves: — 
The spirit of Laud is pleased in heaven's pure clime, 
And Hooker's voice the spectacle approves! 



69 



i 








§j 



lV(- 



^^^^^ 






S STAR that shines dependent upon star 
Is to the sky while we look up in love, 
As to the deep fair ships which thou.Qjh they move 
Seem fixed to eyes that watch them from afar; 
As to the sandy desert fountains are, 
With palm-groves shaded at wide intervals. 
Whose fruit around the sun-burnt Native falls 
Of roving tired or desultory war- 
Such to this British Isle her Christian Fanes, 
Each linked to each for kindred services; 
Her Spires, her Steeple-towers with glittering vanes 
Far-kenned, her Chapels lurking among trees. 
Where a few villagers on bended knees 
Find solace which a busy world disdains. 



70 




HO but is pleased to watch the moon on high 
Travelling where she from time to time enshrouds 
Her head, and nothing loath her Majesty 
Renounces, till among the scattered clouds 
One with its kindling edge declares that soon 
Will reappear before the uplifted eye 
A Form as bright, as beautiful a moon, 
in open prospect through clear sky. 
Pity that such a promise e'er should prove 
False in the issue, that yon seeming space 
Of sky should be in truth the steadfast face 
Of a cloud flat and dense, through which must move 
(By transit not unlike man's frequent doom) 
The Wanderer lost in more determined gloom. 



To gl 



THE Shepherd, looking eastward, softly said. 
"Bright is thy veil. O Moon, as thou art bright!" 
Forthwith, that little cloud, in ether spread 
And penetrated all with tender light. 
She cast away, and showed her fulgent head 
Uncovered ; dazzling the Beholder's sight 
As if to vindicate her beauty's right 
Her beauty thoughtlessly disparaged. 
Meanwhile that veil, removed or thrown aside, 
Went floating from her, darkening as it went; 
And a huge mass, to bury or to hide, 
Approached this glory of the firmament; 
Who meekly yields, and is obscured — content 
With one calm triumph of a modest pride. 



72 



^: 



■iSie^-^^ ^S" 







WITH how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the sky, 
"How silently, and with how wan a face!" 
Where art thou ? Thou so often seen on high 
Running among the clouds a Wood-nymph's race! 
Unhappy Nuns, whose common breath's a sigh 
Which they would stifle, move at such a pace! 
The northern Wind, to call thee to the chase, 
Must blow to-night his bugle horn. Had 1 
The power of Merlin, Goddess! this should be: 
And all the stars, fast as the clouds were riven. 
Should sally forth, to keep thee company. 
Hurrying and sparkling through the clear blue heaven; 
But, Cynthia! should to thee the palm be given. 
Qiieen both for beauty and for majesty. 




Hb stais lie m insions built by Nituies hind, 
I And, haply, there the spirits of the blest 

Dwell, clothed in radiance, their immortal vest; 

Huge Ocean shows, within his yellow strand. 
A habitation marvellously planned. 
For life to occupy in love and rest; 
All that we see is dome, or vault, or nest. 
Or fortress, reared at Nature's sage command. 
Glad thought for every season! but the Spring 
Gave it while cares were weighing on my heart. 
Mid song of birds, and insects murmuring; 
And while the youthful year's prolific art — 
Of bud, leaf blade, and flower — was fashioning 
Abodes where self-disturbance hath no part. 



74 




ONE Flower, hemmed in with snows 

and white as they 
But hardier far, once more I see thee bend 
Thy forehead, as if fearful to offend, 
Like an unbidden guest. Though day by day, 
Storms, sallying from the mountain-tops, 
waylay 
The rising sun, and on the plains descend; 
Yet art thou welcome, welcome as a friend 
Whose zeal outruns his promise! Blue-eyed May 
Shall soon behold this border thickly set 
With bright jonquils, their odours lavishing 
On the soft West-wind and his frolic peers; 
Nor will 1 then thy modest grace forget, 
Chaste Snow-drop, venturous harbinger of 

Spring, 
And pensive monitor of lleeting years! 








\KK' 'tis the ThiLish. unciiuiitcd, undeprest, 
By twilii^ht premature of cloud and rain; 
Nor does that roaring wind deaden his strain 
Who carols thinking of his Love and nest, 
And seems, as more incited, still more blest. 
Thanks; thou hast snapped a tlreside Prisoner's chain. 

hxLilting Warbler! eased a fretted brain. 

And in a moment charmed my cares to rest. 

Yes, 1 will forth, bold Bird! and front the blast, 

That we may sing together, if thou wilt. 

So loud, so clear, my Partner through life's day, 

Mute in her nest love-chosen, if not love-built 

Like thine, shall gladden, as in seasons past, 

Thrilled by loose snatches of the social Lay. 



{DROPPED mv pen; and listened to the Wind 
That sang of trees uptorn and vessels tost — 
A midnight harmony; and wholly lost 
To the general sense of men by chains contiiied 
Of business, care, or pleasure; or resigned 
To timely sleep. Thought I, the impassioned strain, 
Which, without aid or numbers, I sustain. 
Like acceptation from the World will find. 
Yet some with apprehensive ear shall drink 
A dirge devoutly breathed o'er sorrows past; 
And to the attendant promise will give heed — 
The prophecy — like that of this wild blast, 
Which, while it makes the heart with sadness shrink, 
Tells also of bright calms that shall succeed. 



76 



^^ 



]i^^4 





^^^ 

T IS .1 bcMutcous evcnine:, c.ilm and liee, 



The holy lime is quiet as a Nun 
Breathless with adoration; the broad sun 
Is sinking down in its tranquillity; 
The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea: 
Listen! the mighty Being is awake, 
And doth with his eternal motion make 
A sound like thunder — everlastingly. 
Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here, 
If thou appear untouched by solemn thought, 
Thy nature is not therefore less divine: 
Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year; 
And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine, 
God being with thee when we know it not. 



77 




70 'THE CUCKOO. 

the whole warbling grove in concert heard, 
When sunshine follows shower, the breast can tiir 

>^f> Like the first summons. Cuckoo! of thy bill, 

^^^ With its twin notes inseparably paired. 

The captive 'mid damp vaults unsunned, unaired. 

Measuring the periods of his lonely doom. 

That cry can reach; and to the sick man's room 

Sends gladness, by no languid smile declared. 

The lordly eagle-race through hostile search 

May perish; time may come when never more 

The wilderness shall hear the lion roar; 

But, long as cock shall crow from household perch 

To rouse the dawn, soft gales shall speed thy wing, 

And thy erratic voice be faithful to the Spring! 



NEAR Anio's stream I spied a gentle Dove 
Perched on an olive-branch, and heard her cooing 
'Mid new-born blossoms that soft airs were wooing. 
While all things present told of joy and love. 
But restless Fancy left that olive grove 
To hail the exploratory Bird renewing 
Hope for the few, who, at the world's undoing. 
On the great tlood were spared to live and move. 
O bounteous Heaven! signs true as dove and bough 
Brought to the ark are coming evermore, 
Given though we seek them not, but, while we plough 
The sea of life without a visible shore. 
Do neither promise ask nor grace implore 
In what alone is ours, the living Now. 



78 



n 




i W'^\_^. 




COMPOSED ON ^ mAY [MORNING. 

LIFE with yon Lambs, like day, is just begun. 
Yet Nature seems to them a heavenly guide, 
Does joy approach? they meet the coming tide; 
And sullenness avoid, as now they shun 
Pale twilight's lingering glooms— and in the sun 
Couch near their dams, with quiet satisfied; 
Or gambol— each with his shadow at his side, 
Varying its shape wherever he may run. 
As they from turf yet hoar with sleepy dew 
All turn, and court' the shining and the green, 
Where herbs look up, and opening flowers are seen; 
Why to God's goodness can not We be true, 
And so, His gifts and promises between. 
Feed to the last on pleasures ever new? 






-4 C 








"PERSONAL TALK. 

AM not one who much or oft delight 
To season my fireside with personal talk — 
Of friends, who live within an easy walk, 
Or neighbours, daily, weekly, in my sight: 
And, for my chance-acquaintance, ladies bright, 
Sons, mothers, maidens withering on the stalk. 
These all wear out of me, like Forms, with chalk 
Painted on rich men's floors, for one feast-night. 

Better than such discourse doth silence long, 

Long, barren silence, square with my desire; 

To sit without emotion, hope, or aim. 

In the loved presence of my cottage-fire, 

And listen to the flapping of the flame. 

Or kettle whispering its faint undersong. 



YET life," you say, "is life; we have seen and see, 
And with a living pleasure we describe; 
And flts of sprightly malice do but bribe 
The languid mind into activity. 
Sound sense, and love itself, and mirth and glee 
Are fostered by the comment and the gibe." 
Even be it so; yet still among your tribe. 
Our daily world's true Worldlings, rank not me! 
Children are blest, and powerful; their world lies 
More justly balanced; partly at their feet. 
And part far from them: sweetest melodies 
Are those that are by distance made more sweet; 
Whose mind is but the mind of his own eyes. 
He is a Slave; the meanest we can meet! 



82 




INGS have we — and as far as we can go, 
We may find pleasure: wilderness and wood, 
Blank ocean and mere sky, support that mood 
Which with the lofty sanctifies the low. 
Dreams, books, are each a world ; and books, we know, 
Are a substantial world, both pure and good: 
Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood. 
Our pastime and our happiness will grow. 

There find I personal themes, a plenteous store, 

Matter wherein right voluble I am. 

To which I listen with a ready ear; 

Two shall be named, pre-eminently dear — 

The gentle Lady married to the Moor; 

And heavenly Una with her milk-white Lamb. 



NOR can I not believe but that hereby 
Great gains are mine; for thus 1 live remote 
From evil speaking; rancour, never sought, 
Comes to me not; malignant truth, or lie. 
Hence have I genial seasons, hence have I 
Smooth passions, smooth discourse, and joyous thought 
And thus from day to day my little boat 
Rocks in its harbour, lodging peaceably. 
Blessings be with them — and eternal praise. 
Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares — 
The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs 
Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays! 
Oh ! might my name be numbered among theirs, 
Then gladly would I end my mortal days. 



83 







OW sweet it is, when mother Fancy rocks 
The wayward brain, to saunter through a wood! 
An old place, full of many a lovely brood, 
Fall trees, green arbours, and ground-tlov/ers in flocks; 
And wild rose tiptoe upon hawthorn stocks. 
Like a bold Girl, who plays her agile pranks 
At Wakes and Fairs with wandering Mountebanks — 
When she stands cresting the Clown's head, and mocks 
The crowd beneath her. Verily 1 think 
Such place to me is sometimes like a dream 
Or map of the whole world : thoughts, link by link, 
Enter through ears and eyesight, with such gleam 
Of all things, that at last in fear I shrink. 
And leap at once from the delicious stream. 



i>i^; 



c-fA 





lent? Is thy love a plant 
fibre that the treacherous air 
Of absence withers what was once so fair ? 
^ Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant ? 

Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant- 
Bound to thy service with unceasing care, 
The mind's least generous wish a mendicant 
For naught but what thy happiness could spare. 
Speak— though this soft warm heart, once free to hold 
A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine. 
Be left more desolate, more dreary cold 
Than a forsaken bird's-nest filled with snow 
'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine- 
Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may know! 



86 






/\ 



.^' 



^_.fl - 


. > 




* 1 



HOUGH joy attend Thee orient at the biith 
Of dawn, it cheers the lotly spirit most 
To watch thy course when Daylight, fled from earth, 
In the gray sky hath left his lingering Ghost, 
Perplexed as if between a splendour lost 
And splendour slowly mustering. Since the Sun, 
The absolute, the world-absorbing One, 
Relinquished half his empire to the host 
Emboldened by thy guidance, holy Star, 
Holy as princely — who that looks on thee, 
Touching, as now. in thy humility 
The mountain borders of this seat of care. 
Can question that thy countenance is bright. 
Celestial Power, as much with love as light ? 




VALEDIC TOR Y SONNE T. 




ERVING no hauohty Muse, my hands have here 
Disposed some cultured Flowerets (drawn from spots 
Where they bloomed singly, or m scattered knots). 
Each kind in several beds of one parterre ; 
Both to allure the casual Loiterer, 
And that, so placed, my Nurslings may requite 
Studious regard with opportune delight. 
Nor be unthanked, unless 1 fondly err. 
But metaphor dismissed, and thanks apart. 
Reader, farewell! My last words let them be — 
If in this book Fancy and Truth agree; 
If simple Nature trained by careful Art 
Through It have won a passage to thy heart; 
Grant me thy love, 1 crave no other fee! 












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